


Paper Folding (fragment)

by koalathebear



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 14:16:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalathebear/pseuds/koalathebear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Escape fic for Michael/Sara.  Summary: Takes place after the season finale.   Never finished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Folding (fragment)

_"I believe in being part of the solution, not the problem."_

He watched over her as she slept.

 _"Michael - are you out of your mind? You have to come with us **now**...."_ Lincoln's voice had been anxious, his face very troubled.

 _"No, you go ahead first ... I can't go yet ..."_

Lincoln had been horrified. _"There's no way. She won't want to see you, Michael. You can't stay. Come with us."_

Nonetheless, Lincoln had known. He'd known as soon as they had heard about Sara's condition that Michael wasn't going to go anywhere. It was more than Michael's saviour complex. For a long time, Lincoln had known that Dr Sara Tancredi had managed to get under his younger brother's skin - completely and totally. Hers was the face that his brother had seen every day, sometimes more than once a day and it was clear to him that Michael brother had allowed himself to develop feelings for the young woman - unwise and foolish feelings.

It was also very clear to Lincoln that Michael felt responsible for Sara Tancredi.

 _"No Linc, this is my fault. I'm not walking away. Not without knowing she's all right"._

Lincoln had been left with no choice and so he had fled the country and Michael had remained behind, hiding himself in the hospital, disguising himself. It hadn't occurred to anyone that Michael would be so stupid as to remain behind with half the country looking for him. It also helped that the rumours had it that Lincoln and his brother were headed for the Mexican border - a false trail helpfully laid with the help of their father.

It was for a number of reasons and a lot of luck that Michael was able to sneak into Sara's room and look down at her pale, still face. She looked like Sleeping Beauty except he wasn't her Prince Charming. He was more like the monster in the fairy story. The bastard who had been responsible for her ending up like this.

***

Sara opened her eyes slowly. The world was hazy and as memory returned to her, pain flooded her like sharp needles.

 _"Again you disappoint me. I don't need political enemies when I have **you**."_

 _"Nice to see you, too, dad...."_ she had whispered before sinking into blissful unconsciousness, her father's words searing like a brand.

Later when Sara had regained consciousness, she had discovered that she was not alone.

 _"Sir, I think that there is a real possibility that Dr. Tancredi was involved in the prison escape"_ Pope's face had been genuinely regretful and hesitant.

Frank Tancredi's face had been contorted with rage. _"Are you out of your mind? My daughter is a junkie. She was supposed to be clean but she is clearly determined to destroy herself and take me down with her - she was drunk, high take your pick when all this went down. Her only aim in life is to bring me shame!"_

The governor's fury was completely convincing, the perfect alibi - he hadn't been pretending. He had genuinely believed that it was all about him. Since his inclusion as a potential vice presidential candidate, his political life had become his only life - even more so than before.

Sara stared up at the whiteness of the ceiling as she remembered the exchange. As far as her father was concerned, everything she did had always been to spite him. He had always disapproved of her choices, seeing every act as one of petty and childish rebellion.

Pope had stared down at Sara Tancredi's pale face. He only had Katie Welch's word for it. In the time that Sara had worked at the prison, she had always been extremely dedicated and professional - her conduct beyond reproach. It was for that reason that he had decided to speak with her first before officially reporting that there was a strong likelihood that Governor Tancredi's daughter had been involved in the escape. Now, he found himself second-guessing his original suspicion.

 _"Sir, I ..."_

 _"The prisoners escaped from their cells.... they dug a hole under the goddamned guards' break room - all of this under your nose. I suggest that you stop attempting to pin this fiasco on my daughter and start looking to your own survival, Pope - there are very serious doubts about your continued competency to run the prison,"_ Tancredi had said viciously.

Pope had flinched his eyes not moving from Sara's face. She was mute with pain, her dark eyes filled with a silent scream and the pity he felt for her almost overwhelmed him. An addict. He hadn't suspected this during her entire time at the prison He certainly hadn't guessed at her past when she had interviewed for the position.

A young woman with dark and sad eyes had walked into his office, quietly dressed, somewhat plain and unassuming.

 _"Why do you want to work here at Fox River, Dr Tancredi?"_

 _"I believe that I'm needed here. I want to be where I can do some good."_

 _"This is a tough place to work - no place for a woman ..... perhaps you could try charity work at the local - "_

At that, there had been a flicker of a smile in those dark eyes and Pope had realised with a shock that Sara Tancredi was lovely.

 _"I've worked in the emergency ward of a city hospital, Mr Pope. I've been sworn at and attacked by crackheads and gang members. I've seen so many gunshot and knife wounds that sometimes I can't believe we're not at war."_ She had tilted her head and smiled at him calmly and he had wondered at the strange serenity of this young woman.

Addict. It was unthinkable. Ordinarily there was no way someone with her background could have been hired by the prison, but clearly Tancredi's influence was vast - was still vast. Pope had glanced at he barely suppressed fury on Tancredi's face and the silent pain on Sara's face and has come to his own conclusions. Eventually he had left and father and daughter had been left alone in the room.

 _"Words cannot express my disgust, Sara. On the eve of the announcement .... yet again you try to destroy my chances. Do you ever think about anyone except yourself?"_ His face had been cold with anger. _"You will talk to no one. You will answer no questions - it's going to be difficult enough as it is to keep this out of the press."_ He had left and he had not returned. No one visited because no one knew she was there, her father had made certain of that.

Sara continued staring up at the ceiling in the solitude of her hospital room. The irony was that she hadn't been trying to kill herself. All she had sought was a moment of sweet oblivion from a world that had become too overwhelming. Thinking and remembering had hurt too much. It hadn't been enough, the dose hadn't been enough. Just a little bit more was all she had needed, a little bit more. Sure enough, the world had gone away and with it the pain.

 _"Be The Change You Want To See In The World"_

Sara's throat tightened. All her life she had hoped for so much more. She had craved the opportunity to make a difference and it seemed as though each time, she had merely sunk further and further into despair, unable to help even herself let alone others.

Sara turned on her side, exhaling slowly and then her breath stopped.

Lying to her right beside her pillow was a small, brightly-coloured origami flower.

***

Each morning that week there was a different flower - folded differently, different colours but all of them placed beside her pillow while she slept.

That night, she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. A tall dark shadow approached the bed and stood there silently, watching over her.

"You shouldn't be here. Clearly you have some kind of death wish," she whispered huskily. She was struggling to suppress the fierce joy within her at seeing him again.

"Look who's talking," Michael said with sadness in his voice. "Sara .... _why_?" He demanded hoarsely, his voice breaking. His hand clenched convulsively on the railing, gripping hard as if he feared that he would fall if he released his hold. "If I had known .... christ ... I would never have asked you to help..."

Sara shook her head. "You didn't force me to help. I chose to help. Your brother?" she asked him.

Michael's lashes were dark against his cheek as he looked down, his face expressionless. He nodded. "He's in a safe place."

"I'm glad."

"Efforts are being made to clear his name."

"That's good."

Michael swallowed hard. "For a long time now - there's been nothing else in my life. My purpose, my reason for living was to save Lincoln. I knew there was a cost but no price was too high..."

"You didn't care," Sara said softly, her pale face smiling slightly. "I know. Single-minded and determined Michael Scofield. You're the kind of person to achieve your objectives whatever the cost."

"Whatever the cost," he repeated with self-loathing. "I told myself that I didn't care about a society that could sentence an innocent man to death ... it's what I needed to believe to do the things I did."

"I understand," Sara told him.

"But something that hurts you is too high a cost," he said tightly.

"How did you know I - ?"

Michael gave a bitter laugh. "Actually it was that sonofabitch Abruzzi. His contacts heard that you were dead. Overdosed and dead on arrival." Michael's eyes were dark and shuttered. He didn't want to tell Sara about how for a moment there, he had gone completely insane.

 _"Tancredi's dead - no doubt your fault,"_ Abruzzi told him cuttingly and then hell had broken loose. It had taken both Lincoln and his father to pull Michael from Abruzzi's battered, bleeding and semi-conscious body. Their father had been there to save them from Abruzzi's inevitable double-cross.

It had been their father who had located the hospital to which Sara had been taken.

 _"How do you expect to just walk into that hospital? Everyone's looking for you!"_ a distraught Lincoln had demanded.

 _"Hey **dad** \- want to make yourself useful for once?"_ Michael's tone had been bitter and sarcastic. He had refused to acknowledge that the man Lincoln was calling their father was truly related to them.

 _"Michael, you can't blame him for this."_ Lincoln had protested.

 _"Credit where it's due."_ Michael had said evenly. _"I need to see her - I know you can make things happen **dad**. Find out where she is, find out how I can see her. I don't care how you do it..... you owe me that much."_ Michael's implacable gaze had met an equally expression stare. In the end, it had been his father who had backed down first.

"You took the risk of coming back just to see my corpse?" Sara asked, looking slightly incredulous.

"I .... had to," Michael told her. He raised a shaking hand to his eyes that were stinging. He looked away for a moment. "and then ... when I heard that you were going to live ..... I ..." He cut himself off and lowered his head, taking deep breaths. He found himself unable to continue. It wouldn't be possible to convey to her the ferocity of the joy that had swept over him, a joy that had almost matched the pain he had felt when he had heard about her overdose. Sara reached out and covered his hand with hers. Her skin felt warm and alive and his head snapped up, his gaze meeting hers.

"You know that I'm the daughter of Frank Tancredi - the Governor of Illinois. You know we don't get along .... you know that I wanted to help people and that's why I became a doctor. What you don't know is that I'm a morphine addict." Her eyes were very bleak. Her bluntness made Michael flinch and he stared at her in disbelief.

She smiled bitterly. "I used to steal morphine during my shifts from the hospital ... it was my father who used his influence to .... keep things quiet."

"And now?" Michael asked her.

Sara shrugged. "Once an addict, always an addict - but I'm clean now," she told him. "This slip up aside". She grimaced. "A few years back, something happened and I realised that if I was dulling my brain with drugs, I wasn't able to help anyone else.... I don't use anymore, and I've been doing what I can to make a difference. to help people - I was walking around in the world carrying my pathetic flicker of hope."

"I'm sorry, Sara."

Sara shook her head again. "I was stupid. I don't know what I was thinking." She released his hand and closed her eyes. "What happened to your brother was so unjust... But I realised that the only way I could help and do the _right_ thing was to do something against the law and so _wrong_.... and to do all that and know that I was never going to see you again.... I wasn't trying to die. I just wanted to step away from the pain for a moment .... just a moment - but I screwed up the dose. You told me to make a mistake - I did. It was just wasn't the one you had in mind."

Michael took her hand in his and raised it to his cheek. "Sara. I never wanted to hurt you. That first day - it's true. I walked into that infirmary with a plan but ... you came to be the only hope I had in that place. The only possibility that there could be more to my life than what I have."

"In a place like Fox River, pretty much any female starts to look good after a while," she told him with a wry smile and Michael shook his head. He kissed her hand, kissing the inside of her wrist, sliding his lips down her smooth, silken skin.

"You know that's not how it is," he told her huskily.

"You shouldn't be here, how did you manage to get in here without being seen?" He didn't answer and then Sara fell silent. Stupid question. Michael Scofield was one of the most determined and resourceful people she had ever met. "You should go," she told him. "If you get caught - "

"I haven't done what I came to do yet."

"You've said sorry - but there was no need to apologise."

Michael shook his head. "That's not why I came."

She didn't ask him why he had come. She didn't want to hear.

"Sara, I ...."

"No." She cut him off. He stared at her and she said softly. "Don't apologise. I made my own decisions. Most of all, don't try and make me think that there was ever anything more than an act." Michael flinched.

Her dark eyes were filled with sadness. "I don't blame you, Michael. You had your reasons for doing what you did. I give points for good intentions. Believe me, I've failed despite my best intentions on more than one occasion". There was a sound outside in the corridor and Michael disappeared into the shadows.

The nurse walked in and glanced around.

"I thought I heard voices."

Michael slipped out into the corridor unseen by the nurse.

"No. I'm alone." Sara said bleakly.

***

The news reports were like a nightmare. The images flickering over and over. The faces, the details, the litany of crimes. Over and over, she saw Michael's eyes, cold and implacable, staring at the camera with unflinching defiance.

He came to her in the darkness again.

"I told you, you should go. If you're caught, it's all over for you." He could tell immediately from her voice that something was wrong.

"Sara ..."

"I _believed_ you. I still believe that your brother is innocent ... but John Abruzzi? A mob boss. Charles Patoshik? He killed both his parents. Oh god ... Theodore Bagwell. Rape and murder of children. Are you going to tell me that he was innocent, too? I've looked into T-Bag's eyes before, Michael. That man has no soul, he's a monster ... and god, I've helped to release him back into the world ...."

It was a question that Michael had asked himself over and over again. What would he do if he heard that Haywire had killed again. What would he do if heard that Otto Fibonacci had turned up dead one day? What would he do if he read that T-Bag had struck again.

"That wasn't your fault, Sara. None of it. You can't blame yourself. The fault is mine and you don't carry that burden." he told her in a harsh whisper. "I knew I was doing a deal with the devil when I agreed to let the others come along - allowing those criminals back into society but at that time, I didn't care. I couldn't care. The things I have done are things that I'm going to have to live with until the day I die, but you are not culpable. Listen to me."

Sara shook her head.

"Fox River was like a hell. Bruises, cuts ... I saw people so battered and beaten that their own loved ones wouldn't recognise them. I watched as a rape victim fell apart in the infirmary, crying like a baby but refusing to report his attacker. I patched them up and sent them back out again for it to happen all over again - knowing that if I reported it, that it wouldn't help." Michael's eyes were shuttered but he said nothing and let her continue. "I know what a man looks like when he's swallowed a razor blade and his insides are cut to pieces. I've asked myself where rehabilitation comes into the equation but I told myself I was making a difference even when I wasn't and - "

"Sara you _were_ making a difference. I know it doesn't feel like it."

"Don't patronise me, Michael." She smiled at him bitterly. "I wasn't making the slightest difference. I know that. Then you came along. I thought I could reach you. I thought maybe here was someone - and then you turned out to be even more than that." She gave a mocking laugh. " And - god .... when I found out about your brother ... and I realised that the only way I could do the 'right' thing was to aid and abet? It was twisted and just ... wrong. Even the way I felt about you was something twisted and fake .... Thinking that you felt something for me, too ...." She closed her eyes but it was unable to stop a tear from sliding down her cheek.

"Oh Christ.... don't cry, Sara. Please don't cry," Michael found himself whispering and his voice was a plea. "I fucked up. I know that ... I knew it then .. I told you that I knew I you'd never believe me, but what I told you was true. It might have started out as an act - but it was so much more." He told her. "It _is_ so much more".

"Stop. If you feel anything for me, then stop talking". She opened her eyes again. "I'm going to pull myself out of this. I hit rock bottom before and I clawed my way back up. I can do it again. I don't want Michael Scofield and his saviour complex. I don't need your pity - save it for someone else."

Words had deserted Michael and all he could do was reach out and wipe the tears from her cheeks with his fingers, his skin sliding gently across her skin. He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her and she was crying silently, her lips clinging to his as his firm mouth moved against hers hungrily.

"I'm always going to love you Sara Tancredi. I can't make you believe it... I'm not here to save you - you've always been the one doing all the saving," he told her.

Then he was gone.

***

Sara opened her eyes and stared around the empty hospital room. She turned her head to the side, looking for the origami flower. She sat up, reaching for the paper folding. It wasn't a flower. It was a crane. Her fingertips smoothed it curiously. There was a glimpse of hand-writing and with hands that were not quite steady, she unfolded the crane.

 _Sara_

 _I once told you that in the beginning, I needed to be there with you in the infirmary. Then I wanted to be there. That was the truth whether you believe it or not. I made you a promise that one day we'd go out for dinner, lunch - a coffee. To be honest, I'd settle for just a smile from you outside those damned prison walls. Know that I never wanted to hurt you._

 _I know that it's better for you if I stay away, so I've left - but that doesn't change how I feel. You have a second chance at life and so do I. I can never fix the things that I've done - but I can try. I won't ask for you to wait for me, that's not fair to you - but I hope that one day we'll see each other again - and you can find a way to forgive me._

 _Michael_

***

The paper cranes came every month. Different post marks, different paper, different colours and sizes but they came every month. There was never a note.

"What do these mean?" Shelly asked her curiously, picking up a crane that sat in the cabinet.

"Do you want a cup of tea?" Sara asked her from the kitchen, ignoring her question.

Shelly put the crane down and walked into the kitchen where Sara was watching the kettle with an unreadable expression on her face.

"Coffee for me," the older woman said with a warm smile.

"Sometimes I think you've just swapped one addiction for another," Sara said wickedly and Shelly shook her head.

"You just watch yourself." The amusement in her eyes was a welcome change from the stricken anxiety that had filled her eyes the first time Sara had seen her. Sara hadn't gone back into rehab. She hadn't needed to do that. On the night of her overdose, morphone's sweet call hadn't been what she had craved - although it had been almost impossible to convince Shelly of that. Her sponsor had shadowed her with dogged devotion, attempting and failing miserably to get to the bottom of Sara's overdose.

"I wasn't trying to OD, Shelly. I was just stupid. Too much plus the booze - I hadn't had any longer than I can remember. My body just didn't cope very well. Some doctor I turned out to be."

"I'm glad you're not working at Fox River anymore," Shelly said unexpectedly and Sara looked mildly startled as she poured the boiling water into the mugs sitting on the bench. "It wasn't what you needed just after going clean."

"Maybe it was." Sara said, handing her sponsor a spoon so that she could stir. "I'm done with the pity and the feeling sorry for myself. However bad my life gets, it is nothing compared to the hell that they endure every day."

"You had to go and work in a maximum security prison to get a sense of perspective?" Shelly demanded incredulously as she reached out her hand to snag the plate of cookies and carry them to the sitting room.

"Enlightenment isn't necessarily reached in churches, synagogues and mosques you know," Sara said with a wry smile. She curled up cross-legged on the couch, dipping her cookie into her tea with a thoughtful expression on her face.

She glanced down at the newspaper that was spread on the coffee table. "Finally," Shelly commented.

"Yeah." Sara nodded, staring down at the headlines.

 _LINCOLN BURROWS CLEARED OF MURDER CHARGES_

"What happens to that brother of his? He still helped those other criminals escape. He was in for armed robbery. Did he get a pardon?"

"Commuted sentence," Sara said carelessly. "I'm not clear on the details," Sara said carelessly, brushing the newspaper onto the ground, feigning an indifference she did not feel.

Veronica Donovan had been tireless in her efforts to clear the name of Lincoln Burrows and his son. The scandal in the White House had been horrific when the president's complicity had been disclosed. When Paul Kellerman had been caught, he had been quick to implicate the president in the murder of President Richard Mills. It would be a long time before the dust settled. Inoffensive Vice President McLachlan was caught off balance as he suddenly found himself sworn in to the presidency but his advisers had been shrewd and swift to act. The witch-hunt was underway but in the meanwhile, Lincoln Burrows, his son and Michael Scofield were being portrayed by the media as heroes - innocent victims of a corrupt political system.

If it wasn't necessarily going to be the story of the century, it was certainly the story of the decade. The media frenzy and the need to be seen to balance public outrage with the requirement for suitable punishment had led to Michael's sentence being commuted and then slapped with community service for the armed robbery charges. In terms of the escape itself, it appears as though a collective decision had been made to conveniently overlook the fact that other prisoners had also escaped - although the manhunt was still on for the other escapees.

What all this meant was, it didn't matter how much she tried to forget him, Michael Scofield's clear-eyed gaze stared out at her from magazines, newspapers and from the television.

***

"Someone here to see you, Sara," Teresa called out from the doorway. Sara glanced up from the invoices on the table before her.

"We have to stop people drinking so much juice," she said with feeling as she stood up. It had been Shelly's idea. Sara wasn't ready to be anyone's sponsor but she was organised and motivated with a good head for administration.

"I know it's not the same as being a doctor, but you're helping people in a different way," she had told the young woman who to her surprise had welcomed the opportunity. It had been decided that for everyone's sake, Sara should resign from Fox River for 'health reasons'. Her father was powerful but not so powerful that he could make all consequences go away. At any rate, there was no way that Sara could have returned to Fox River to work. Notwithstanding her tarnished record, it was possible that the Governor could have yet again pulled strings but Sara had elected to, at least for the moment, step back from her medical career.

Sara froze when she saw the tall man standing in the doorway. He walked up to her slowly and smiled tentatively.

"Dr Tancredi," he said courteously.

"Lincoln," she said softly. "This is a little unexpected."

"I hope I didn't startle you." he said apologetically. She said nothing. His hair had grown out slightly but he appeared unchanged - on the outside.

"How can I help you?" she asked him politely.

"Is there somewhere we can talk?" he asked her hesitantly, his serious dark eyes studying her narrowly.

She took him to the room that passed as her office, a tiny, cramped space that she shared with two other people, two people who were fortunately out at lunch at that moment.

"How did you find me?"

"I had a meeting with Governor Tancredi the other day."

Governor Tancredi. Her father had regretfully declined the potential vice presidential candidacy. He had called upon almost every single political favour at his disposal to suppress the news of his daughter's morphine addiction and overdose but he had known that keeping that scandal quiet if he became a candidate for the vice presidency was almost impossible. He had pulled out of the race, but he would never stop blaming Sara for the end of his aspirations. Words had been exchanged between father and daughter that could never, ever be erased.

"Oh."

"He seems very proud of the work that you're doing." Lincoln ventured.

Sara said nothing. "How's your brother doing?" she asked him abruptly.

"Actually that's why I'm here, I was wondering if - " he stopped speaking abruptly, staring at the mobile hanging from the ceiling. Sara had taken the paper cranes and threaded them together from a string to form a brightly coloured mobile that fluttered lightly in the breeze.

"Lincoln? Are you all right?"

"Those are from Michael." It was not a question.

"There's never a note."

"They're from Michael. You still keep in touch with him?"

"No." She told him bluntly.

"So why do you keep them so close?" he asked her.

"They're a symbol of peace, honour, loyalty, long life and joy. They seemed appropriate for this place," she said. "The people in this centre need all the hope they can get."

"They also symbolise family," Lincoln told her. "After Michael's sentence was commuted, he put in his community service time and then he disappeared without a word. I haven't heard from him since."

"A crane came in the post in the first week of every month." Sara said quietly. "The day the news came out that John Abruzzi was dead - another crane came in the post."

"The hit was ordered by Philly Falzone from the inside." Neither of them said it, but they both knew. Someone had to have told Falzone where Abruzzi was.

"Another crane came the day the police picked up Theodore Bagwell in Conneticut." Sara told him.

"T-Bag went after the woman who had put him behind bars - he always swore he'd get even."

"That woman had changed her name. She had moved herself and her family somewhere else. I heard that someone laid a false trail for T-Bag to follow."

"Yeah I heard that, too." Lincoln said. "Someone."

"Your brother never changes." Sara looked him in the eye and Lincoln shook his head.

"Oh he's changed all right."

"What about Patoshik? Did you get a crane for him, too?"

"Yes. He was genuinely mentally ill and didn't make it far. There was an anonymous call made and the police picked him up pretty quickly. I received the crane the day before it hit the news."

"How about the other three?" he asked, referring to Tweener, C-Note and Sucre.

Sara shook her head. "You know that Michael always had his own notion of justice. He wouldn't turn those three in."

"Do you know where Michael is?"

"No. One day - the cranes just stopped coming." Sara didn't tell Lincoln about how she had felt that day.

"Nothing else?"

Sara hesitated and then sighed. "There's this," she said and allowed him to see the light gold chain around her neck. There was a tiny gold pendant - a delicate representation of a piece of macaroni.

Lincoln looked puzzled and Sara smiled wryly. "Stupid joke.... Michael's version of a macaroni necklace. I got this on my birthday." she told him. There was a flicker of hope in Lincoln's eyes.

The two of them fell silent and Lincoln ran his hand through his hair. The ring on his finger glinted in the light of the cramped office.

"You got married." Sara observed.

Lincoln stared down at his hand and smiled. "Yeah. And Michael didn't even bother to show for the wedding - just sent us a gift. Veronica was devastated."

Sara stared down at her hands, hands that still twisted together restlessly when she was feeling troubled. "I'm sorry, Lincoln. I really am. I don't know how to reach your brother." She gave him a very wry half-smile. "I never have."

"That's where you're wrong." Lincoln said heavily. "I've never seen my brother affected so deeply by anyone. The day when we thought ....that you had died, something in him snapped and it was like he went insane."

"Guilt will do that to you."

"So will love."

Sara's eyes were shining with tears. "I never pegged you for a romantic, Lincoln."

"If you think I'm romantic, you should see my little brother. He's out fighting dragons for the woman he loves."

"Lincoln, I'm sorry. I wish I could help. I really don't know where he is."

"He's still looking out for you. He's not far from you. I can guarantee that."

"Your brother's gone stalker?"

That made him smile slightly. "No. But the cranes mean that he's looking out for you."

"I told you, he doesn't send then anymore."

"He's probably just waiting for a sign from you that you've forgiven him," Lincoln said quietly.

Sara said nothing.

"I miss my brother."

"I can't help you."

Lincoln smiled wryly and then rose to his feet. "Thanks anyway."

She walked him to the door, answering his questions about the centre along the way. He appeared genuinely interested in the work.

"Please come again if you want. We could always use extra people."

Lincoln nodded. "I know exactly what it's like." ." His hand were tight around Sara's as he shook hands with her. She smiled and watched as he walked back to his car.

***

Sara walked through the shopping centre slowly, eyes wandering over the displays in the window and stopped abruptly.

She walked into the shop and the shop assistant came forward with a polite smile. "How may I help you ma'am?"

"The light in the window," she said pointing and the shop assistant glanced and then smiled.

"Oh those are very popular," she said and brought one over to the counter, plugging it in and Sara stood and stared down at it with a curious expression on her face. It was more like a lantern with small, cute, woolly sheep on the outside. The exterior moved around slowly while the light shining on the inside illuminated the animals. "It's a night light for a children's nursery."

Sara traced the smooth waxed paper with a wondering fingertip. "I don't suppose you have cranes do you?"

The shop assistant's smile slipped slightly. "We have Big Bird."

Sara laughed despite herself.

"Your children like cranes?" The woman asked, her eyebrows raised.

"Oh I don't have any kids. It's for someone else." Sara explained. "I'll take the sheep," she said, smiling down at the whimsical patterns that were being cast around the shop by the turning light shade of the nightlight.

That night, she placed the children's night light in the front window of her apartment and then hung two paper cranes in the window so that they were also illuminated by the light. Then she turned the main light off and sat in her living room, staring at the little sheep dancing around on the walls of her apartment. They cast a light over the paper cranes that swayed slightly to a non-existent breeze.

For the rest of the week, despite feeling somewhat ridiculous, Sara found herself turning on the children's night light before going to bed.

***

"Tall or grande?"

"Grande." Sara answered automatically.

"Skim or normal?"

"Skim, please."

"Caramel?"

"No thanks."

"Cream?"

"No thanks," Sara answered, wishing that Ian hadn't decided to resign and travel the world to find himself. Starbucks might not serve the best coffee but ordering was an ordeal akin to running the gauntlet if the staff member was new, didn't know you and felt like he had to run through every single possible permutation of a caffeinated beverage.

Sara slid into a booth in the corner with her coffee, reaching for her notebook and taking a sip of the scalding hot beverage. As she read, she absently began folding her serviette.

"Your origami skills are really bad."

Sara froze and slowly lifted her eyes to the speaker. Light eyes. Dark lashes. Steady stare. She hadn't had to look up. She would have known that voice anywhere.

"Michael."

"Sara," he said and there was a very rueful smile curving his mouth as he studied her. His gaze was very warm, lingering on her face as if he had every right to do so.

"How did you know i was here?"

"I went to where you work - they said that you'd be here. Something about you having a thing for one of the baristas."

"One I do not have the hots for Ian. Two he doesn't work here anymore and three, I liked him because he remembers what I order - always a plus at Starbucks." She tilted her head back and regarded him narrowly. "It's been a while - I'm honoured. There are a lot of people looking for you."

"I know."

"I could make my fortune now if I call Letterman - everyone wants to interview you." Michael grimaced.

"Funny."

Michael slid into the seat opposite her and the space suddenly felt a lot smaller.

"You look good." he told her, reaching his hand up to touch her hair which was now at shoulder-length. "Curly ..." He said with a smile, his fingers brushing against the softness of the curls whimsically. It gleamed a burnished red and he tugged a curl lightly.

She stared at him. By contrast, he had allowed his hair to grow slightly. Dark hair that contrasted sharply with the startling lightness of his eyes. It was still cropped short, but it was longer than before.

"Why are you here, Michael?" she asked him slowly.

"I promised you I'd take you out for ... coffee."

She held up her coffee. "I've already bought my own coffee, Michael."

"Let me buy you another one?" he asked her hopefully.

"It's a grande," she told him with a faintly withering note in her voice.

"Come on, walk on the wild side," he dared her. She smiled despite herself. He glanced down at the serviette and with a faintly mischievous smile he tore a page out of her notebook, tore it so that it was square shaped and began folding swiftly. She watched his strong, steady hands as they creased and folded the paper with expert assurance.

"Hold out your hand."

She held out her hand, palm up and he dropped the small paper crane into the palm of her hand.

"Sheep?" he questioned her. "I take it they didn't have cranes."

Sara didn't look up from her contemplation of the paper crane. "I put a crane in the window, too," she said.

"You couldn't have made a light yourself instead of going with the sheep."

"Unlike you, not all of us appear to be Magyver's lovechild," she told him, still not meeting his gaze.

"Was the sheep light your equivalent of a candle in the window calling me home?"

"I didn't want to burn the place down."

"So practical." His voice was a caress, his light eyes travelling over her face, lingering on her downcast eyes, on the fullness of her mouth and the way her lips pressed together slightly before she spoke again.

"Lincoln says you just disappeared."

"I had things to do."

"Michael Scofield." She smiled wryly. "You always have to have a project."

"It wasn't a project. Just unfinished business."

Sara finally looked up. "The problem with you Michael is that you think that everything's a problem with a solution. It's not always that easy to make things right."

Michael's eyes hadn't moved from her face during the whole conversation and she found that much as she wanted to, she couldn't look away.

"I didn't do it because I thought I could make things right. I did it because it was the right thing to do."

He took her arm and ran his fingers along the softness of her inner arm, sliding his fingers along the crook of her elbow.

"You won't find track marks. I told you I'd get clean." She told him.

"I never doubted it for a second," he told her and she stared as he lowered his dark head and pressed his lips to her arm, his cool lips sliding over her skin. She couldn't stop herself and her hand reached up and slid through his hair, unable to believe that he was really there with her.

"Where are Tweener, C-Note and Sucre?" she asked him suddenly.

"No idea." he told her, looking up although he now held her hand in his.

"Liar."

"I really don't know." He said with a smile. "I gave them their share of the cash and they disappeared." Sara looked at him sceptically and his smile widened. "I didn't go looking for them."

"You're saying you could find them if you wanted to."

"Of course."

"You're still a smug and arrogant son of a bitch," Sara said softly, but the sting was taken out of her words by the fact that with her free hand she reached up touch his face and slide her fingers down his jaw line.

He turned his face so that he could press a kiss into the palm of her hand.

"Not arrogant and not smug. I'm well aware of my shortcomings, Sara."

"Yes. Now you're a stalker." she told him tartly.

He laughed. "I looked in on you from time to time just to make sure you were ok. That doesn't make me a stalker. Besides, how am I suppose to interpret the welcoming sheep night light in your window?" he teased her.

"I knew I should have gone for Big Bird," she muttered beneath her breath and he laughed.

"Why the light, Sara?" His eyes were steady and calm but most endearingly, there was hope and hesitancy in his face. She didn't answer. "I missed you."

"That's nice." she said softly.

"So much are you going to make me grovel before you take me back?" he asked her.

She lifted her eyebrows. "I don't recall that we were ever together offically in the first place."

"Sara don't play games with me."

"That's rich coming from you."

"I was never playing with you," he said softly. "You know that. You're smart - can't you just look in my eyes and judge my sincerity?"

"I was really bad at it last time." she pointed out and he looked a bit sheepish.

"Should I leave?" he asked her after a long pause.

She reached out her hand and took it in hers. "Stay," she told him.

***

"They're cute," Michael murmured as they lay on the lengthwise on Sara's battered sofa, staring at the night light with the dancing sheep. Her hair was brushing against his chin, his hands were linked beneath her breasts as he held her body against his.

"Glad you think so," she told him dryly.

"Sara".

"Yes?"

"I did a lot of stupid things".

"Yes".

"I was wrong to lie to you".

"Yes".

He was silent for a moment before continuing. "But I also realise that the way I feel about you outweighs those feelings of guilt, so I decided to try again". Sara said nothing.

"I've made mistakes".

"Yes".

"But if I tell you that I love you - will you believe me?"

There was a long pause. His mouth was hard on hers and she was laughing and crying at the same time.

"Yes".


End file.
